


At the Back of the North Wind

by PostcardsfromTheoryland



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Siblings, albeit a rather fucked up one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 07:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9373412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PostcardsfromTheoryland/pseuds/PostcardsfromTheoryland
Summary: What could possibly go wrong? It was just a little chat with his sister, after all. Nothing could be more normal.Mycroft was just being melodramatic, as usual.Spoilers for TFP!





	

“You’re done, Sherlock,” Eurus’s voice hissed gleefully over the speakers. He stepped back from the glass in shock, finally accepting that she was right. It had been a long plan, a long game, every move painstakingly thought out. But still, it seemed like she had been ten steps ahead of him before they’d even begun, and he couldn’t see how: how she could possibly have anticipated his moves exactly, how she had manipulated him into making foolish mistakes, how she had controlled all the outcomes - even the ones that should have been left to pure chance.

“You’ve lost. You’ve lost everything. And I won.” 

* * *

**5 days ago**

Sherlock slammed through the doors to the Diogenes Club, taking immense pleasure in startling the old codgers who were taking tea in the front room. Wilder, ever unshakeable, just rolled his eyes and waved Sherlock on to Mycroft’s office.

“I need a helicopter, Mycroft,” he demanded as he burst through the room. Mycroft gave him one look and then actually dropped the scone he’d been holding.

“No. Absolutely not. You are not visiting Eurus.”

“This whole mess started because you left her alone, locked up in a cell on an island. Your way of doing things almost got everyone killed. It’s my turn.”

“So you think, what, you can talk to her and suddenly everything will be fine and dandy and we can all go out for chips as a family?” Mycroft asked, rubbing his temples. “That is not how it works, Sherlock. You’ve just barely started to remember her at all; I don’t think I need to remind you why she was taken to Sherrinford in the first place.”

“Yes, she’s a complete psychopath and she killed Victor and set Musgrave on fire. But she’s still our sister, and she and I have some unfinished business.”

“Exactly. She is our sister, not a puzzle,” Mycroft ground out. “And she is _dangerous_ , Sherlock. You’re quite literally playing with fire. She could be your undoing.”

“I seem to recall you thinking the same thing about John Watson,” Sherlock replied loftily.

“I should make you wait until Christmas. If you go in there now and try to work out some mystery, she’ll start expecting more gifts. She’ll be hell to work with.” Mycroft sighed, but Sherlock could tell he’d won.

“Wasn’t she already?”

“I am coming with you,” he said. “And I will be watching very closely, Sherlock. The second I say so, you are coming straight back to London. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Sherlock managed with his most charming smile. Mycroft wasn’t fooled.

“Do not make me regret this, Sherlock. Please.”

* * *

**Six hours ago**

“You’re really doing this, then?” John asked from his seat at the table, trying to get Rosie interested in some pureed mush that supposedly tasted of carrots. “Going to visit your crazy, murderer sister?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, rechecking the false bottom of the duffel bag. He doubted it would be searched too thoroughly, but one never knew - especially when Mycroft was involved. “Problem?”

“Just - are you sure? I mean, this is the same woman who tried to strangle you and get you to kill multiple people and then threw me in a well.”

“I admit, we don’t have a typical sibling relationship, but then again, look at Mycroft,” Sherlock smirked. “I have some questions that only she can answer. It should be perfectly safe.”

“Should,” John repeated darkly. Even Rosie, from her perch in the high chair, seemed concerned. Though that could just be because John was a bit remiss in giving her lunch. “Last chance to say so if you want me to come, too.”

“Thank you, but no. Mycroft will be with me-”

“Like he did a fat lot of good last time,” grumbled John.

“And if anything _does_ go wrong, you should be with Rosie. Not that it will!” he protested at John’s alarmed expression. “But, you know, contingency plans and all that.”

“What do you need so much that you’re going to risk your life and sanity to get it from her? Terrorist plots, the meaning of life, bloody lockpicking lessons?”

“I believe she has some information about Jim Moriarty that might be important,” Sherlock replied cagily.

“Jim Moriarty,” John deadpanned.

“Well, you asked.”

“Jim Moriarty is very dead, as you’ve assured me many times.” Rosie punctuated the statement by banging her rattle against the table. “So why do you need to go visit your deranged sister right this moment?”

“Just looking for a bit of confirmation, that’s all. You know me: I can’t leave theories untested.”

“Right.” John clearly wasn’t convinced, and he began eyeing the duffel bag with suspicion. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I wouldn’t, John.” He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, walked over to press a kiss to Rosie’s forehead, and then he was out the door before John could voice any more complaints.

The game was on.

* * *

**Two hours ago**

The helicopter had landed without a problem. The facility had seemed secure from all outward and inward appearances, completely new staff vetted very thoroughly by Mycroft himself. Sherlock had been fitted with an earpiece, courtesy of his brother, and his person and duffel had been inspected. Mycroft had scoffed at the violin and bow fit snuggly into the case but didn’t say anything: the disapproving glare said enough. Finally, though, after checks and double checks and triple checks of the security in Eurus’s cell, Mycroft had admitted defeat, and Sherlock had been allowed in.

Eurus looked up as he entered, smiling but not particularly surprised. She’d anticipated his arrival, then. Interesting. She also took one look at the duffel in his hands and went to pick up her own violin from the corner of the cell, tuning it as she paced. She waited for him to finish rosining the bow and then gave him a single A to tune off of, slightly muffled through the speakers. Sherlock noticed that she was a few cents higher than he was used to, around 443 Hz, and he grimaced as he realized he’d need to put a bit more tension on his instrument. Eurus seemed to read his mind and gave him a bit of a challenging smirk.

“I’m surprised that instrument is even playable, after everything,” she said, accenting the jibe with a few pizzicato B flats.

“You’re hardly the first person to try blowing up my flat,” Sherlock scoffed. “The violin case is probably the sturdiest thing in there.” He countered with the opening gesture of the Ysaÿe _Ballade_ , just to show off. “Shall we begin?”

They played duets for nearly an hour. Sherlock was loathe to admit that Eurus’s technique was better than this own. Of course the Stradivarius helped matters - even mediocre violinists could sound divine on an instrument like that. But Sherlock was getting antsy, and it seemed like Eurus’s mind was starting to wander a bit, as well. He laid the violin back in its case and sat down on the floor in front of the glass.

“Now then, let’s do something else,” Sherlock smiled as he opened up the false bottom in the duffel and dumped its contents onto the floor between them, nearly chuckling as Mycroft spluttered at him over the earpiece. “Pick your poison.”

* * *

**Present**

“I don’t understand,” he whispered. “That shouldn’t have been possible, probability was on my side…”

“Come on, Sherlock, you lost. Time to admit defeat.”

“I still don’t understand how you did that. Did you rig it?”

“You landed on Park Lane, fair and square.”

“You must have rigged the dice,” he complained, rolling them over in his hands, inspecting their weight.

“I rigged the dice you brought from home, from in here, while you rolled for both of us because you wouldn’t come into my cell even when I asked you nicely? You’re just a sore loser because I didn’t trade you Oxford Street and now you’re completely bankrupt.”

“Anyways, Monopoly is a stupid game. We should have played Life.”

“You gave me a choice,” she shrugged, “and I wanted to play Monopoly. Shouldn’t have brought it if you didn’t want to play it. Next time you can pick, but only if you convince Mycroft to actually come in instead of skulking in the watchtower. It’s always more fun with three.”

“I’m a detective, not a miracle worker,” Sherlock scoffed as he packed up the board. “Oh, but speaking of, while I’m here - thank you.” Eurus looked genuinely surprised and confused.

“Have you been secretly hoping someone would play board games with you, too? I’d have expected Dr Watson at least would have been up for it.” Sherlock winced, remembering the first (and only) time he’d convinced John to play Cluedo.

“Usually Mycroft or Mrs Hudson, actually, but no. I meant for the, er, video. You know the one.”

“Oh, yes!” She brightened considerably, and Sherlock couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed with how smug she looked. “Of course I wasn’t going to let you get sent to Eastern Europe and killed by some dull, no-name terrorist. I would have been _so_ bored. I had all those videos from Jimmy, I figured I might as well use one of them. And honestly, they should have given you a medal for killing Magnussen. He was a horrible person- and that’s saying something, coming from me.”

“Still. It was...appreciated.”

“If anyone’s going to kill you, brother dear, it’s going to be me.” Right, yes. Mycroft’s voice was buzzing in his ear: _remember Sherlock, Eurus is still a murderer_. But there was something teasing about her smile, something honestly playful that gave Sherlock pause. Hmm. Needed more data.

“Of course. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“And bring some cake next time, too!” she called as he swung the duffel with the games and his violin onto his shoulder. “That should entice Mycroft, don’t you think?” And God help him, Sherlock started giggling.

“A great big _galette des rois_ ,” he promised, “with ridiculous pink icing.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

Sherlock turned to wave goodbye, and there was his murderer sister in an airtight cell, and the entire situation was basically the epitome of “fucked up,” but…

“So am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little speedfic, meant to be fun and playful and lovingly betaed by [Pippip_Hurray](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippip_hurray/). Mostly I couldn't help myself. I saw Sherlock walk into Sherrinford carrying that bag and, despite being a musician, my mind automatically went to "oh of course he's brought some board games for them to play, that's nice." And then I chuckled about a bait and switch fic and well, here we are.


End file.
